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Parsha Perspectives: Vayeilech/ Yom Kippur: Start Dreaming

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If there is one prayer that resonates in the heart of every Jew, it is Kol Nidrei. The very tune is haunting yet enchanting, saddening yet uplifting. Yet, when one looks at the words – they seem to be anything but inspirational. Kol Nidrei is a form of Hataras Nedorim, revocation of vows. We begin the holiest day of the year by releasing ourselves from the vows of the past and proactively annulling the vows of the future. On a legal level this is very important as violating one’s vow is considered a severe transgression. We do whatever we can to repent and absolve ourselves of sin as we enter this sacred day. And still, we find ourselves confounded by a basic question: Of all the beautiful prayers we have in our liturgy, why begin the holiest day of the year with revocation of vows? There are many prayers with moving words, prayers that capture the true essence of Yom Kippur, prayers that speak to the theme of purity and repentance. Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to use some of these prayers as the liturgical introduction to this holy day? Why do we begin with Kol Nidrei? What is the message?

Perhaps, to answer this question we must strive to understand the purpose and power of a neder (vow). The paradigmatic neder is the Nazirite vow. A person takes a vow to abstain from wine and cutting his hair. The Nazir is forgoing certain physical pleasures and choosing to place less emphasis on his “self.” Why would a person do such a thing? The Rabbis explain – because deep down he knows he can be something more, deep down he knows he possesses greatness within but needs the proper framework to extract it. He needs to shift the focus from pleasure seeking to purpose seeking. Sometimes in life we need a push; we need some level of tension to actualize our potential. This is the neder – the binding promise which creates the framework to allow the individual to access his internal reservoir of potential.

To take this one step further, perhaps, the neder can be viewed as a personal aspiration or dream. I know where I am now, and I know where I need to be; the neder is the vehicle to help me bridge the gap. The neder creates a legal reality in which I must actively work to actualize my dream/aspiration. But there is a danger in dreaming – many dreams fail to materialize, many dreams come crashing down, many dreams end in disappointment. When one experiences too many failed dreams, one loses his resolve and courage to dream any more. It is too hard to leave oneself open to hurt and feelings of failure; better to live without dreams than to dream and fail.

This coming Tuesday night when we enter the hallowed sanctity of Yom Kippur, we reflect on last year and realize that many of the things we wanted to do, we didn’t. Many of the dreams we had remain unrealized or worse, ended in failure. And so, the first thing we do on this sacred day is revocation of vows, Hataras Nedorim – we let go of our failed dreams. We let go of the unrealized dreams of last year. We let go because we will not allow ourselves to be burdened by the yolk of failed dreams. Carrying around these failures can be stifling. We let go in order to dream anew.

This is our mandate over Yom Kippur – dream a new dream! Ask yourself, who do I want to be? What do I want my life to look like? What do I need to accomplish? We unburden ourselves in order to fill our hearts and souls with new, magnificent and holy dreams for the coming year. There is no better, more appropriate way to start this special day than with the recitation of Kol Nidrei.

I hope and pray that we will each find the courage to dream a new dream. Let us hope that God sees the beauty in our dreams and gives us the strength to make them come true.

G’mar Chasima Tova and Good Shabbos

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Parsha Perspectives: Nitzavim/ Rosh Hashanah- Breaking Through The Shell

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In one of his final addresses to the Jewish people, Moshe says, For this commandment which I command you this day, is not concealed from you, nor is it far away. It is not in heaven, that you should say, “Who will go up to heaven for us and fetch it for us, to tell [it] to us,
so that we can fulfill it?” Nor is it beyond the sea, that you should say, “Who will cross to the other side of the sea for us and fetch it for us, to tell [it] to us, so that we can fulfill it?” Rather, [this] thing is very closeto you; it is in your mouth and in your heart, so that you can fulfill it (Devorim 30:11-14).”
The commentaries are bothered by one simple question, “which commandment is Moshe referring to?” Some explain that Moshe is actually referring to the Torah in its entirety. The Ramban (Nachmanidies, Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, 1194-1270) explains that Moshe Rabbeinu is referring to the mitzvah (commandment) of Teshuva (repentance, return). Moshe is telling the people that the ability to return and reconnect with God is not beyond us. We do not require an intermediary, expert, or someone more spiritually skilled to help re-forge and reinvigorate the bond with our Father Above. Ki Karov Elecha HaDavar Miod, B’ficha, U’bilivavcha, this thing is very close to you, it is in your mouth and in your heart.”
Rav Avraham Tzukerman zt’l (Rosh Yeshiva Kfar HaRoeh) explains, “Ki mikora shel nishmas ha’adam hu mi’limala …. V’ha’adam sho’eyf tamid lashuv l’mikoro, the source of man’s soul is above (in the celestial sphere) and he yearns perpetually to return to his source.” The desire to return is innate. The desire to have a close connection and passionate relationship with God is woven into the very fabric of our
spiritual DNA. Although the body was fashioned from the earth, the soul comes from above and yearns
to reconnect.
Rav Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook zt’l (1865-1935) offers a beautiful parable. When a chick is ready to hatch, it begins to slowly peck at the shell. When it makes the first hole, it then begins to peck harder, ultimately thrusting its head through the small opening. How does the chick know that there is a whole world waiting on the outside? How does the chick know that what is on the other side of the shell is
better than its current circumstances? Elah zohi techushato ha’tiviit, ha’locheshet lo sod zeh, rather, this is its internal intuition and nature which whispers this secret….” Just as the chick instinctively knows what to do to get to a better place, the soul knows what to do to reconnect with God.
We often find ourselves encased by the shell of our reality. For some of us, the shell is a result of decisions we made or did not make. For others, the shell is a result of circumstances beyond one’s control. This life shell makes us feel removed and so distant from the Heavens above. Rosh Hashanah is the time to peck away at that which confines and limits us. Rosh Hashanah is a time to think beyond our shell and realize that there is a beautiful world with so much opportunity that awaits us. Rosh Hashanah is a time to realize that we can have a meaningful and passionate relationship with God. It is within reach. It is innate. It is possible. It is very close to you. Let us each find the strength to open our hearts and allow our soul to go where it knows it needs to go.
I want to take this opportunity to wish each of you Kesiva V’Chasima Tova. May each us together with
our families and our nation be inscribed for a year of growth, holiness, health, happiness, and most
importantly – redemption

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Parsha Perspectives: Ki Savo- Blessing at All Times

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In his final days with his beloved nation, Moshe tries to give proper instruction to his beloved people. “Now if you give ear to the voice of the Lord your God, and keep with care all these orders which I have given you today, then the Lord your God will put you high over all the nations of the earth: And all these blessings will come on you and overtake you, if your ears are open to the voice of the Lord your God. A blessing will be on you in the town, and a blessing in the field. A blessing will be on the fruit of your body, and on the fruit of your land, on the fruit of your cattle, the
increase of your herd, and the young of your flock. A blessing will be on your basket and on your bread-basin. You shall be blessed when you come and blessed when you depart (Devorim 28:2-6).”
What is the meaning of this last phrase, “Baruch ata b’voecha, u’baruch ata b’tzeysecha, you shall be blessed when you come and blessed when you depart”? Rashi explains, “Your departure from the world should be like
your arrival to the world. The same way that your arrival was without sin (cheyt), so your departure should be without sin (cheyt).” But how are we to understand this statement? There is no person who is without sin.
Even the most righteous and devout of people possess shortcomings, faults, and make mistakes.
To fully appreciate this statement, we need a new definition of the word “cheyt.” The Maharal (Rabbi Judah Lowe 1526-1609) explains that we often assume the word “cheyt” means sin – but in fact, it means empty or
void. Sin has repercussions. I have done something wrong, and now there is a resulting negative impact that manifests itself in punishment. We do believe that every action has a reaction. We do believe that just as
every mitzvah has rewards, every sin has repercussions as well. But we also believe in the mercy and love of God. We know that Hashem loves us in ways that we cannot comprehend. We know that with sincere
teshuva (repentance) we can negate the punishments and negative decrees. As such, the real collateral damage of sin is not punishment – it is the distance. You see, every time I sin, I create a distance, a chasm
between myself and Hashem. Every time I sin, I push myself away from my Father and find it difficult to connect and feel His presence in my life. This is the tragic reality of our negative reactions – distance from
Him who we need most. Sin represents a violation of the sacred trust between me and God. In relationships, a breach of trust creates a distance between the parties. This is true with people, and it is true with God. This
is the sad reality created by sin. We have the ability to bridge this distance through prayer, chessed (acts of kindness), and teshuva (repentance).
“Your departure from the world should be like your arrival to the world; the same way that your arrival was without cheyt, so your departure should be without cheyt – perhaps, in this context, cheyt doesn’t mean sin –
it means emptiness or a void. Moshe was trying to teach the Jewish people a magnificent lesson. When a baby comes into this world, it doesn’t take much to make the infant happy. If the baby has a mother to hold
him, a warm blanket, and his mother’s milk, he is content. He doesn’t feel like he is deficient or lacking anything. Now, it is possible that another baby has a warmer blanket, a fancier bassinet, or designer onesies,
but our first little baby is completely unaware. He simply basks in the happiness of what he has without feeling deficient because someone else may have more. Moshe Rabbeinu blesses his beloved flock and tells
them, “the same way when you entered this world you didn’t feel deficient, you were happy with the blessings you had and content with the life you were given, I give you the beracha that you should leave this world in
the same state, feeling content with your blessings and appreciating the beautiful gifts of life.”
As we prepare to enter the sacred days of Rosh Hashanah, we begin to think about all of the things we need. We will ask God for health, livelihood, success, and happiness. We will pray for the safety and success of our
children and our people. But it is equally as important to stop and appreciate all we have been given. Too often, we feel a void because we don’t have as much as the other. Too often, we measure our blessings
against the blessings of our neighbor. We must learn to find happiness in what we have, and we must learn to express gratitude for what we have been given.
May we be privileged to feel the contentment of our youth throughout our entire life.

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Parsha Perspectives: Ki Seitzei- Kindness at All Times

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לא תראה את שור אחיך או את שיו נדחים והתעלמת מהם השב תשיבם לאחיך
You may not observe your brother’s ox or his sheep lost and conceal yourself from them; you must surely
return them to your brother (Devorim 22:1).

The Torah introduces us to the obligation of Hashovas Aveidah (returning lost objects). If I stumble upon the lost object of another, I am obligated to collect it and try to identify the owner. This obligation may pose difficulties or create great inconvenience, yet the Torah encourages me not to turn a blind eye and pretend as if I didn’t see the object. Hasheyv Tishe’veym, you must surely return the object to your brother. This mitzvah is part of our code of chessed (kindness); a code which lays the foundation for our entire system of behavior and conduct.

The Ibn Ezra (Rav Avraham ben Meir Ibn Ezra, 1089-1164) makes a fascinating observation. This mitzvah follows on the heels of the laws of war (as stated earlier in the Parsha). What is the nature of this juxtaposition? What is the connection between Ki teitzei la’milchama al oyvecha, when you go out to war against your enemies and returning lost objects? The Ibn Ezra explains that the obligation of Hashovas Aveidah (returning lost property) applies even when one is going out to war.

Upon further reflection, this statement of the Ibn Ezra is exceptionally profound. One could only imagine the intensity of emotion experienced by the solider as he readied himself to leave his home and fight for his people. On one hand he was filled with confidence and assured of the holiness, meaning, and necessity of the battle he was about to wage; yet there must have been sadness, anxiety, and uncertainty as he bid farewell to his family, wondering if this would be the last time he would hold his wife and kiss his children. As he marched into battle, he had to be ready to take life and not allow his emotions to eclipse his sense of duty. In the midst of all this inner turmoil, if the solider were to come upon a lost lamb grazing by the side of the road, he would be expected to try to find its owner. How are we to understand this? Shouldn’t the Torah exempt an individual who is about to go out to war from the performance of this mitzvah? Isn’t readying oneself for battle considered a mitzvah which should exempt the soldier from the performance of other mitzvos (in this case returning the lost object)?

Rav Henoch Leibowitz zt’l (Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivas Chofetz Chaim, 1918-2008) explains that we have the ability (and obligation) to be sensitive to the needs of the other, even in the most trying of times. Our mind may be occupied with our own survival; nevertheless, we can and must be conscious of our neighbor’s needs at all times.

There are times when we encounter personal difficulties and challenges. There are times when we are overwhelmed by the enormity of our circumstances. There are times when our “plate is full” with various life stressors. It can happen that during these times of personal stress we lash out at others and justify these behaviors by pointing to the intensity of our circumstances. We learn from the mitzvah of Hashovas Aveidah that we must uphold the highest standards of interpersonal conduct even during personally trying times. We must always be conscious and attentive to the needs of others even when we are in the midst of personal challenges.

This lesson resonates with particular meaning during this month of Elul. It is during these days leading up to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur that we try to introspect, reflect, and make a plan for the future. We are focused on fixing our flaws and building on our accomplishments. Even during such an important time, we can never become so focused on ourselves that we lose sight of the other. Even as we continue to grow as individuals, we must be cognizant of the other right beside us.

We learn from this Parsha that a Baal Chessed (kind individual) is not someone who engages in random acts of kindness, rather, he is someone who maintains a continuous sensitivity to the needs of others in all circumstances and at all times.

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Parsha Perspectives: Shoftim: Altars & Aspirations

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These were the final conversations. The nation could see and feel the Land of Israel. It was finally within reach. But Moshe had to prepare them. Although he would not accompany them into the land, Moshe’s sacred mission was to prepare them for the challenges they would face. Chief amongst Moshe’s fears was that the people would fall prey to the idolatrous culture prevalent amongst the indigenous nations. Over and over again, Moshe warns and exhorts the nation to uproot and destroy every last vestige of Canaanite polytheism.

Among the multiple prohibitions, Moshe commands: “And you shall not set up for yourself a monument (matzeyva), which the Lord your God despises (Devorim 16:22).” What is this matzeyva monument? Rashi explains that it was an altar made from one stone as opposed to the mizbeyach altar, which was made of multiple, individual stones. But why would God “despise” it? Throughout the book of Genesis (Bereishis) we find many
examples of great, righteous people building matzeyvos to serve God. What changed to make the matzeyva so terribly distasteful in the eyes of God that the Torah must warn us so strongly against its use? Rashi explains that the matzeyva had become central to Canaanite idolatrous practice. Thus, although it was “beloved” by God when the Patriarchs used it, it was now abhorrent in the eyes of the Creator. Still, the Torah could have simply stated “don’t build a matzeyva” (much in the same way it says, “Don’t plant an asheyra tree” – a type of tree used for
idolatrous worship). But to say that God despises something which was a staple in the religious service of the forefathers seems extreme. At the base of Mount Sinai, the very spot of incredible Divine revelation, the Torah tells us that Moshe built twelve matzeyva altars for the twelve tribes of Israel. On the future site of the Beis HaMikdash, our forefather Yaakov built a matzeyva altar from the stone he had placed beneath his head. Avraham and Yitzchak built matzeyva altars wherever they travelled. How could it be that the very thing that was beloved
and accepted by God in previous generations had suddenly become despised?

Rav Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook zt’l, in his work titled Midbar Shur, explains that each of the Patriarchs represented and embodied a particular character trait (middah). Avraham represented chessed (kindness), Yitzchak embodied gevura (strength), and Yaakov stood for emes (truth). Each Patriarch used his middah in the service of God. If you were to approach Avraham and ask him for advice on how to create a meaningful relationship with God, he would instruct you to do good for others, and you will merit this desired closeness.
Chessed is the key for connection. We lose connection with God because we become overly focused on the self. Think about others, give to others, live for the other, and you will find God. Yitzchak would advocate for gevurah – one must display personal strength and commitment to personal growth. One must find the strength to sacrifice for the Almighty. You must build and bolster yourself in order to influence the world around you. If one cultivates these strengths, then a meaningful and lasting relationship with the Almighty is within reach. Yaakov would advise
that the path to God requires unequivocal commitment to emes; truth must serve as man’s compass in finding our Father above. It is easy to lose your way in life. You must be firm in your commitment to our values and beliefs.

Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov created these solid pillars of chessed, gevurah, and emes. Their single-stone matzeyvos represented their singular and individualized approach to the service of God.

Moshe declared to the Jewish People that this was no longer an acceptable approach. After forty years of spiritual maturation in the desert, God expected us to spiritually diversify, becoming “proficient” in many areas of life by acquiring different character traits and abilities. One has to strive to become a chessed, gevurah, and emes Jew. We have to become people who engage in meaningful prayer and help the poor. We must be people who are focused on growth and personal development and at the same time are attentive to the needs of the other. We must remain true to our values and beliefs while coexisting with others who may live and believe differently. The single-stone matzeyva was acceptable and even desirable for the forefathers, but it is off limits to us. From us, God demands a mizbeyach avanim, a multi-stone, multi-faceted altar.

But Moshe does not stop there. Asher sanai – the one thing that God despises more than anything is when we sell ourselves short. The greatest affront to God is when we convince ourselves that we cannot be more. God endowed each of us with such beautiful and awesome abilities and talents. It is our Divine obligation to discover and utilize them. I have no right to tell God that I can only be proficient in one particular area or only accomplish certain things while other achievements are simply beyond my reach.

The single stone, the single approach matzeyva gives man a license to be “one thing.” Asher sanai – “I hate when you convince yourselves that you can’t be more.” Hashem hates the matzeyva because it has come to represent excellence and commitment in one area, whereas God asks us to be mitzuyanim, to excel in all we do.

Our life mission is to accumulate stones. These stones represent all of the different character traits, middos, and abilities we must possess in order to be successful people. We must learn to spiritually diversify and strive for proficiency and piety in all areas of Judaic life. We begin this process one ‘stone’ at a time. I begin by taking inventory of the stones I have already accumulated. Are they polished and properly chiseled? Are they clean and properly cared for? Am I actualizing the strengths I already know I possess? Am I maximizing the potential I know I
have? After the inventory I ask myself a simple question – what additional stones do I need? What qualities and traits do I lack, and how can I acquire them?

We have outgrown the matzeyva, and we are privileged to be a mizbeyach. May we find the strength to actualize
this great gift. (From 5777)

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Parsha Perspectives: Re’eh: Hope & Holiness

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Moshe Rabbeinu spends his final days reviewing and reinforcing the ideas and perspectives necessary to allow the nation of Israel to become a successful, powerful, and strong people. He reminds them to avoid the temptations of idolatry and immorality and to remain true to the tenets of our Torah and relationship with God. Moshe also dispensed a healthy dose of chizuk (positive reinforcement).

“For you are a holy people to the Lord, your God, and the Lord has chosen you to be a treasured people for
Him, out of all the nations that are upon the earth.” (Devorim 14:2)

God loves us. Not only when we behave or follow His dictates; He loves us all the time. Moshe tells us that failure is inevitable, but he also reminds us that God’s love and commitment to us is constant. God does punish, and there are repercussions for our negative or sinful behaviors, but the Divine love is always present (even if at times it cannot be felt). It is this message which gives us the strength to rebuild in the aftermath of communal and national failure. God forgives, and God loves. Why? Because we are the chosen treasure of
our Father Above.

Rashi (Rav Shlomo Yitzchaki 1040-1105) advances a simple yet profound insight:
For you are a holy people: Your holiness stems from your forefathers, and, moreover, “the Lord has chosen you.” – [Sifrei]

Moshe is not simply telling us we are holy; he is explaining that our holiness is innate. Our personal holiness doesn’t only stem from what we do or the choices we make; it is the result of who we are. We are the children of Avraham and Sarah, Yitzchak and Rivka, Yaakov, Rachel, and Leah. We are the descendants of Moshe Rabbeinu and Dovid HaMelech. Holiness is contained in our very life-blood and embedded in our DNA. Moshe Rabbeinu was teaching us that no matter how profoundly we fail or how far we fall, we are still holy. No matter how many times we sin or how many bad choices we make, we are still holy. But how can this be? Haven’t we divested ourselves of our personal holiness? “For you are a holy people, your holiness stems from your forefathers.” There is earned, personal holiness and conferred, national holiness. Earned holiness is the result of our good deeds and positive accomplishments. It is attained through positive actions, but it can be lost through negative or sinful behavior. Conferred holiness is the result of who we are as the Jewish Nation. We are part of a people that is endowed with an irrevocable holiness. Conferred holiness cannot be lost or even compromised. No matter what we do, no matter how badly we mess up, we are still holy. This was the ultimate chizuk and message of hope Moshe was giving to his beloved flock. My dear children, you are holy and will always be holy. Even when you fail, you are holy. Even when you fall, you are holy. It is this holiness that God sees in you, and it is this holiness with which create the unbreakable bond of love between your Creator and you.”

This Shabbos is Shabbos Rosh Chodesh Elul. This last month of the year provides us the opportunity for reflection and introspection. It is during these upcoming days that we ponder our accomplishments and failures of the past year and think about what we want to accomplish and who we want to be in the year to come. All too often, we feel overwhelmingly saddened by our failures and shortcomings. At times, we feel
frustrated as the things we resolved to fix this past year are still in a state of disrepair. It is during this sacred, last month of the year that we must remember, we are holy. No matter how many failures we encounter or how far we may have fallen, we are still holy. We can squander our personal holiness, but we are always blanketed by our conferred national holiness. Where there is holiness, there is hope, and where there is hope, there are untold possibilities. (Reprinted from 5778)

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Parsha Perspectives: Eikev- Taming the Beast

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And it will be, because you will heed these ordinances and keep them and perform, that the Lord, your God, will keep for you the covenant and the kindness that He swore to your forefathers (Devorim 7:12).

In the opening verse of this week’s Parsha, Moshe creates a simple paradigm – if we live up to the word of God, God will deliver on the promises He made to the Patriarchs. But for the fledging Jewish nation, more important than the promises of livestock and produce was the promise of protection and victory in the wars against the kingdoms of Canaan. Moshe reminds us that in the same way that God brought Pharaoh to his knees, He can and will do the same with Canaanite kingdoms.

Moshe continues and says, “And the Lord, your God, will drive out those nations from before you, little by little. You will not be able to destroy them quickly, lest the beasts of the field outnumber you (7:22).” The battle for Canaan will not be quick, not because our enemies are too fierce, but rather, out of concern that if we conquer more land than we can settle, wild animals will overrun these conquered areas and pose a threat to the nearby inhabitants. What a strange statement. Moshe has just told the people that there is going to be Divine protection and intervention, and, yet now we are worried about the beasts of the field? The same God who can bend and manipulate the laws of nature can certainly keep the animals at bay. The same God who will instill fear into the hearts of the Canaanite soldiers could also instill fear within the animals, causing them to retreat from before the Jewish people. How are we to understand this statement of Moshe?

The Modzitzer Rebbe (Rav Shaul Yedidyah Elazar of Modzitz) provides an amazing insight. When forced to fight, man must draw on his animalistic instincts. When forced to kill, man gives up (loses) some part of his humanity. Life often calls for such drastic measures. Wars must be waged for the needs of the nation and for the actualization of Jewish destiny. The solider must kill; the soldier must be prepared to take the life of another if this is what the mission calls for. However, there is a reality that must be acknowledged. There is collateral damage on a personal level. After fighting a war, after taking a life – the soldier is no longer the same. Once those feelings and instincts that allowed one to kill have been unleashed, it is not easy to simply bottle them up. This, explains the Rebbe, is the meaning of the pasuk. Why not just go to war with all of the Canaanite nations at once? Why will God drive them out ‘little by little’? To which God answers, Pen Tirbeh Alecha Chayas HaSadeh, lest the beasts of the field become too much upon you. The beasts to which the Torah refers are not the animals that inhabit the land of Israel, but rather, the animal that dwells within. God explains, “If I have you engage in constant fighting, constant bloodshed, constant war, the animal within will overwhelm you and can extinguish your humanity. Therefore, I will clear out the nations slowly. You will have to fight, but you will also have time to heal. The mission will be accomplished but at a slower pace to allow for the preservation of the Tzelem Elokim (the Divine Image) within each and every soldier.”

The Rebbe’s insight teaches us a valuable lesson. What I do determines who I am. The actions we engage in shape and mold our very character and essence. If we want to become good and holy people, we must engage in good and holy behaviors. Yet, at times we engage in certain activities that we know are detrimental (to our body or soul), but we convince ourselves that this action will not color who we are. Pen Tirbeh Alecha Chayas HaSadeh, if I act like the animal, the inner animal will dominate and eclipse the beauty and holiness I possess within. There are times when we must unleash the animal within, but we must have a plan how to rein it in, assess the damage, and create a space in which to repair and heal.

Moshe teaches us a most poignant and important lesson. Who we are is determined by what we do. Our actions define us; our actions solidify our identity. Let us find the strength to make the right decisions and choices, but when we fall and when we fail, let us find the courage to rein in the beasts of the field.

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Parsha Perspectives: Vaeschanan- The Pain of Consolation

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“Nachamu Nachamu Ami, be consoled, be consoled my people (Isaiah 40:1).”

We read these beautiful words of the prophet Yeshayahu (Isaiah) on the Shabbos immediately following Tisha B’Av. When the fast ends, we feel euphoric, excited, and optimistic. But why? What is different? The Temple has not yet been rebuilt, anti-Semitism still exists, and there is still in-fighting within our people. Why is this Shabbos a Shabbos of Consolation when nothing has seemingly changed?

Rav Ephraim Oshry (1914-2003) provides an amazing insight. Rav Oshry was the Rav of the Kovno Ghetto and answered many questions of halacha (Jewish law) throughout the war. He compiled these heartbreaking, yet inspiring responsa in a work titled, Responsa from the Depths. In his introduction to the third volume he raises an interesting question and provides an incredible insight and explanation. The Torah states:

“You shall remember what Amalek did to you on the way, when you went out of Egypt, How he happened upon you on the way and cut off all the stragglers at your rear, when you were faint and weary … Therefore, it will be, when the Lord your God grants you respite from all your enemies around [you] in the land which the Lord, your God, gives to you as an inheritance to possess, that you shall obliterate the remembrance of Amalek from beneath the heavens. You shall not forget! (Devorim 25:17-19).”

“Why must the Torah tell us to “remember” and “don’t forget”? Is this not redundant? God knew we would remember what Amalek (Rav Oshry relates historical Amalek to the Nazis) did to us. How can we not remember? The fire still burns, the pain is still acute. How can we not remember Auschwitz, the Ninth Fort, and Bergen Belsen? But the Torah explains, ‘when the Lord your God, grants you respite from all your enemies …. In the land which the Lord your God, gives you as an inheritance to possess;’ God knows that we will rebuild. We will rebuild our families, we will rebuild our wealth, we will rebuild our people, and we will rebuild ourselves. And we will begin to think, why should we hold on to the pain of the past? Let the past be the past. What good does it do to hold on the pain when all it does is hold me back and anchor me in my heartbreak? God knew that when life would once again become good and filled with happiness and accomplishment; we would try to forget our pain. Therefore, God commands, “You shall not forget.” Even when life is beautiful – never forget your pain.”

But why not? After all, doesn’t there come a point in time when I must let go of the past in order to build a future? Doesn’t there come a point when I should unshackle myself from the heartbreak in order to feel joy? The Torah is teaching us an important lesson. The Jew never forgets or buries his pain – the Jew owns his pain. I look at my pain, and I ask myself what I can learn about myself, my life and my world from this difficult situation. I own my pain and use it as a catalyst for growth. I own my pain and use its lessons as fuel for my engine of life productivity and meaning. “You Shall Remember,” is the natural reaction to pain when the wound is open, and the pain is clearly felt. But lest we think that at some point we need to forget to move on – God reminds us “You shall not forget.” Don’t try to bury, conceal or hide your pain – own it through learning and growing from it.

Perhaps, this is the consolation, the nechama, of Shabbos Nachamu. On Tisha B’Av we allow ourselves to experience the crushing burden of 2,000 years of national and individual pain. At times throughout the day, we feel as if our collective heart will burst from the sadness and despair. But then something amazing happens. We begin the process of owning our pain. We begin to learn from the tragedies. From our tears and sadness, we learn the need for compassion, empathy, and unconditional love. From our heartbreak, we learn tolerance and respect. From our adversity, we learn that we are resilient and can adapt and rebound from the most difficult of circumstances. From our loss, we learn that there is no greater force in nature than the Jewish soul. We take these powerful lessons and make them part of who we are. We own our pain and we recognize that nothing and no one can stop us from accomplishing our spiritual goals and aspirations. The moment we learn from our pain and realize that pain is the ultimate catalyst for growth is the moment we begin to feel a wave of comfort. Those who own their pain are comforted by their pain.

I wish each of you a Shabbos of introspective consolation. May we merit the ultimate consolation with the arrival of the Moshiach, speedily in our days, amen.

(Reprinted from 5779)

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Parsha Perspectives: Tisha B’Av- Impaired Vision

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This coming Sunday we will be observe the saddest and most traumatic day on our calendar, Tisha B’av (the 9th of the Hebrew month of Av). It is on this day that we remember the tragedies and catastrophes which have befallen our people over the last few thousand years. However, the darkness and sadness of this day can be traced to one, singular episode— the Sin of the Spies. Despite the assurances of God and Moshe, we felt compelled to scout out the Land of Israel. The spies came back and delivered their disastrous report, telling the nation that the land was simply unconquerable. These demoralizing words sent the people into a downward spiral. The nation cried, and it is here that the Talmud records a dramatic statement: “God said, ‘You have cried unnecessary tears, I will cause you to cry for many generations to come (Taanis 31).’” When did this report and Divine response occur? On the 9th of Av. It is the sin of the spies that created the tragic foundation for this difficult day, a foundation which has seen layer after layer of tragedy added to it over the last two thousand years.  

But did the punishment fit the crime? I understand that we were ungrateful and lacked faithfulness, but does it not seem disproportionate to condemn every Jew (over the age of 20) to death in the desert and to mark this day for ongoing tragedy? Furthermore, the people tried to do teshuva (repent). The Torah relates that the very next morning the people arose early in the morning and ascended to the mountaintop, saying, “We are ready to go up to the place of which the Lord spoke, for we have sinned.”  Moses said, “Why do you transgress the word of the Lord? It will not succeed. Do not go up, for the Lord is not among you, [so that] you will not be beaten by your enemies (Bamidbar 14:39-41).” They acknowledged their mistake and tried to right the wrong, yet the punishment was still severe and swift. How are we to understand the nature of their mistake and the Divine reaction? 

The Dubno Maggid (Rabbi Yaakov Kranz, 1740-1804) explains this dynamic with a mashal (parable).  There was a fine young man who was known to be a Torah scholar with sterling middos (character traits) who was engaged to marry a young woman from a very wealthy family. One day, as the fathers were sitting down to discuss the financial arrangements for the upcoming wedding, the father of the bride told the father of the groom, “I am so happy our children are getting married; we will be happy to pay for the wedding. My only request is that you take care of outfitting your son for the wedding. But it is important that you buy him a suit of the finest materials.” To which the father of the groom responded, “My dear friend, I, too, share your excitement for the upcoming wedding of our children, and I have much appreciation for your generosity. I am a man of virtually no means, and while I can certainly afford a basic wardrobe for my son, I can’t purchase the type of clothing you are suggesting.”  “Well, if you can’t provide this one small part, then the wedding is off!” replied the father of the bride.  And so, the beautiful match ended. A few months went by, and the father of the bride regretted his hasty decision.  The groom was such a fine young man with such refined character; how could he justify breaking off the nuptials over a suit? He contacted the father of the groom and voiced his desire to have their children marry. “My dear friend”, replied the father of the groom, “my son is a very special young man who has much potential. Yet, you were willing to cast him aside because of a suit. Any family that would treat my son this way doesn’t truly appreciate who my son is. I no longer wish for my son to be a part of your family.”   

The Dubno Maggid explains, when the spies maligned the Land of Israel, it highlighted a fundamental lack of love and appreciation for the Land. This wasn’t simply a lack of proper judgment; this sin represented a fundamental lack of understanding of the preciousness and holiness of the Land. A mistake of this magnitude could not simply be remedied by attempting to march on the Land the next day, nor could it be remedied through a simple apology.  It would take another forty years of nomadic existence to cultivate an appreciation for a home, for a land, for a destiny. The real sin of the spies was one of flawed perspective and outlook. All they saw were the problems. They failed to see the beauty and good.   

Nothing in life is perfect. Everything and everyone have their strengths and weaknesses, but if all I see is what is broken and wrong, I end up appreciating nothing. Many of us have struggles with which we must contend each and every day, but we must be careful that these struggles don’t obscure or eclipse our blessings. It is easy to lose one’s self in the sadness and despair of difficult circumstances. We must always maintain a healthy disposition and recognize all the beautiful berachos and bounty we possess as well.   

This lesson has an important interpersonal ramification as well.  There is an amazing Gemara. 

Rabbi Chiya’s wife was a difficult person.  Yet, whenever he would come across a nice item, he would purchase it, wrap it and give it to his wife (as a gift). Rav (Rabbi Chiya’s student) observed this and said, “Rebbe, why are you doing this? We see how she often mistreats you.” To which Rabbi Chiya responded, “It is enough (I have gratitude) that she raises the children (she is a wonderful mother) and saves me from sin’ (Yevamos 63a).” 

Apparently, Rabbi Chiya didn’t have a story book marriage. There were complications. Yet, Rabbi Chiya chose to see the beautiful aspects of his wife’s personality. Rabbi Chiya realized that in life nothing and no one is perfect, and you must choose through which lens you will view others and the world. People wrong us, people hurt us, but we must learn how to see the positive aspects in the other. This is not just in marriage. The Rabbi Chiya standard must guide and inform all our interpersonal relationships. 

Tisha B’Av is a day of tears for all that has been lost. Tisha B’Av is a day when we cry for the dreams which never materialized. Tisha B’Av is a day when we cry for those we have lost and whose absence is acutely felt by our nation. Yet, we must remember that even on Tisha B’Av itself, the mourning practices lessen as the day progresses. Because after we cry and after we mourn, we must remind ourselves that all is not lost. We each have beautiful blessings, each of us is a beautiful blessing. As we dry our tears, we pledge to ourselves that we will not lose ourselves in the abyss of sadness or despair. I will focus on that which is good. I will focus on my blessings. I will strain myself to see something beautiful and positive in every person. I will push myself to actively take stock of my personal blessings. I won’t be a spy. I won’t live life with a skewed perception. Perhaps, this is the merit we need. If we see the good in the other, ourselves, and the world, maybe this will be the last Tisha B’Av marked with mourning.   

May we merit to see the coming of Moshiach, the rebuilding of the Beis HaMikdash, and the drying of our tears. 

(Reprinted from 5779)

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Parsha Perspectives: New Beginnings, Ancient Problems – Reflections on Rosh Chodesh Av (Matos-Masei))

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Rosh Chodesh, the beginning of a new Hebrew month, brings with it promise, potential, and joy. There is nothing more beautiful than a new beginning, an opportunity to start again, rejuvenate, and regenerate. But the beginning of this new month, the month of Av, is different. As the Talmud states: 

“Mi’shenichnas Av, Mi’maatin B’Simcha, (When the month of Av enters, we diminish our joy).” (Mishna, Tractate Taanis 26a) 

This Rosh Chodesh ushers in 9 days of mourning and sadness. We refrain from various activities, including the consumption of meat and wine (except on Shabbos). Our hearts are filled with the pain of thousands of years of collective sorrow. The Mishna recounts the various events that make this month one of sadness and pain. The meraglim (spies) returned from the Land of Israel on the 9th of Av and delivered their disastrous report; the city of Beitar, the city of the Bar Kochba rebellion, was crushed by the Romans and its inhabitants slaughtered; and many other unfortunate and tragic events unfolded during this auspicious month. However, the central event on which we focus is the destruction of the Temple (Bais HaMikdash). Each and every year we face the same challenge. How do we mourn for something we have never known? We have existed without a Bais HaMikdash for over 2,000 years, and although deep in our souls we know that something is missing, it is difficult for us to feel a true and real void. It is difficult to shed a tear for something for which we have no frame of reference. It is challenging for us to relate to that which we do not know. So how can we connect? How do we appreciate the loss of the Temple and make it relevant? 

I want to share with you an idea which I have discussed many times in the past but has timely relevance during these important days. In Pirkei Avos (Ethics of our Fathers, Chapter 5 Mishnah 5) we are told about ten miracles that occurred in the Temple. The 8th miracle listed is, “Omdim tzefufim, u’mishtachavim revachim”, (the people stood crowded together, yet prostrated themselves in ample space). When our ancestors came to the Temple on the Regalim (Pesach, Shavuos, and Succos) and Yom Kippur, the Bais HaMikdash was packed from corner to corner. In fact, Jerusalem was teeming with people from the cities of Israel and beyond. The courtyard of the Temple was so crowded that people literally stood shoulder to shoulder. However, when they bowed in prayer, there was room for everyone to have personal space. An amazing miracle, clearly in defiance of natural law. But why the need for such a miracle? What was the message?   

Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo ben Yitzchak, 1040-1105) explains that when the people would bow in prayer, each person would ask for his/her personal needs. If individuals were in earshot of one another, the supplicant would feel self-conscious about articulating his needs. Furthermore, on Yom Kippur when a person would bow in order to confess his sins, if the penitent felt he could be overheard by his neighbor, he may have been hesitant to confess. Therefore, to allow each person to have a personal dialogue with the Divine, God performed this miracle.   

Rav Menachem Mendel of Kotzk (1787-1859) offers an additional insight. The Rebbe explains that this Mishna is not simply relaying a miraculous event but is also conveying an important life lesson. Omdim (standing) – if a person always stands his ground and is never willing to yield to another, the result is Tzefufim (crowded) – the world is very crowded and constricted, there is no room for the other. However, if a person is Mishtachavim (prostrating) and willing to yield to another, the result is Revachim (ample space), there is room for everyone. The secret to successful life relationships is knowing when to stand your ground and when to yield. There are things in life that we must fight for, and there are many more things for which conflict is not the answer. There are times when we must be an Omed on certain issues and accept the negative repercussions, and there are times when we must be a Mishtachaveh and learn the art of yielding to the other for the sake of peace and harmony. We must learn the delicate balance of knowing when to use each of these powerful traits.   

The Bais HaMikdash was the address for the entire Jewish community. There were not different temples for different hashkafos (religious philosophies); there were not different temples for different levels of observance. There was one Bais HaMikdash for the Jewish nation. There was one address where we had to learn how to come together in brotherly harmony and serve our God with one heart and one soul. There was one place where we were required to come and learn the art of bowing to one another, yielding to one another, and respecting one another.   

In the Bais HaMikdash, Jews of all stripes and colors would gather to worship together. We mourn the absence of this unifying place. We don’t mourn the loss of a building, as buildings can always be rebuilt. We mourn the loss of an ideal. When the Bais HaMikdash stood, it was clear that the will of God was for us to unite. The Bais HaMikdash, through its mere existence reminded us that to remain a nation, we can’t argue over every single issue. There are issues that are so delicate and important that we must vociferously disagree and yes, draw our line in the sand. But I would venture to say that for many other issues, we must find the strength to yield. We mourn the unifying absence of our beloved Bais HaMikdash.   

It is difficult to cry and mourn for that which we do not know. But if we can’t cry – we must at least yearn. We must yearn for a time in which we can embrace our differences and coexist as a cohesive nation.   

Truth be told, we must do more than yearn – we must do. We must learn to bow, learn to yield, learn to make the hard sacrifices in order to achieve true shalom with one another. Before getting into an argument with another, before saying something that may be hurtful, before doing something that may be “correct” but may not be “right”, we should ask ourselves: Is it really worth it? There are times in life when we may be truly in the right, but this doesn’t mean a battle should be waged. It is difficult to strike the balance between being a principled and peaceful person. The Bais HaMikdash helped us to achieve this equilibrium; now we must do it on our own.  

Friday is Rosh Chodesh, but it is unlike all other monthly new beginnings. We feel a sadness, we feel a heaviness as we continue to mourn over what has been lost. But as we observe our mourning practices and reflect on our national and personal tragedies and set-backs, let us resolve to do our part in bringing shalom into our personal, communal, and national lives. There are times to be rigid, but there are many more opportunities for understanding, compassion, and flexibility. In the merit of bowing before one another, may we be privileged to bow together before God in a rebuilt Jerusalem – bimheyra b’yameynu, amen. (Reprinted from 5778) 

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